


These Seven Months

by Themetrist



Category: John Wick (Movies)
Genre: Angst, Brief Fluff, Brief Sexual Content, Drama, F/M, Graphic mentions of violence throughout, Language
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-30
Updated: 2019-07-30
Packaged: 2020-07-27 11:29:52
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,256
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20045269
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Themetrist/pseuds/Themetrist
Summary: You were hired to kill John Wick, but you're seven months deep into a relationship with him instead.





	These Seven Months

Your mission was nearly impossible. A task many faced and were swiftly greeted with death. You had faith in your skills, but you weren't stupid either. As much as you wanted to end his life and legacy, you knew his reputation became so wildly known for a reason. He was the best, and the stories only infuriated you more. He was both praised and feared, but you saw him for what he was; a cocky bastard. You hated him with every fiber you had, and maybe you were a little jealous too, you weren't quite sure. So when you were given a contract to kill John Wick, you couldn't have been happier. You planned for days how you'd do it, you fantasized about it, what weapon you'd use (your custom blade, of course), and how you'd cherish that day forever. You could almost feel his blood dripping in your hands. You were taking your nightly jog as you thought about all this, noticing you ran way out of your normal route. Your adrenaline was pumping high and it came to a halt once you stopped thinking about your sinister fantasy. You felt every ache in your body and your feet hurt. You stopped at the first place you seen, a little coffee shop, shining in neon lights.   
  
As you sat inside, your mind wondered back to John Wick. You figured you'd take him out during his next hit, or was that too cliché? You knew you'd have to bring guns if you did, and you already knew the guns you'd carry. You smirked as you imagined shooting him in the head and finally ridding the world of the Baba Yaga. Of course you'd be happy with shooting him, but you'd rather something more intimate. Something slow and painful, so he could feel your presence. Your smile grew wider, you really couldn't wait to kill him.   
  
Your smile quickly faded as your jaw nearly dropped to the table as John Wick entered the little coffee shop. He was in causal clothes, so you knew he wasn't working, simply getting coffee. You only had a small knife on you, so you knew it was foolish to try anything now, but you just couldn't help your feet from moving you towards the counter next to him. He didn't seem to pay you any mind, but you knew he had seen you. You knew he had scanned the place already, knowing how many people where there, and already went over every scenario if anything were to turn sour. It was a bad habit that all great assassins had. You knew this because you had done it already, and unfortunately, none of the scenarios in your head ended with you being alive. Still, you gripped your knife in your pocket till your knuckles hurt. He would disarm you before you got the knife near him and use it against you. You didn't want to die here, not in a run down coffee shop. You didn't want to be another victim of the infamous Baba Yaga. Then he looked at you, slightly confused at first, then he stepped back to let you go in front of him, mumbling a low, "Sorry."  
  
You realized you were almost standing in line, but not quite. It was just the two of you as the third person just walked out the door. The pale blue colored floor and dimly lit lights seemed to imitate your mood. John looked at you again, his eyebrows pinched slightly as you stood frozen. "Are you alright?" His tone echoed what you considered as worried.   
  
All the blood was drained out your face from clenching the knife so hard, your sweaty, frizzy hair was pulled back into a low pony tail, you had a bruise on your temple and cheekbone from your last mission, and you wore baggy sweats. You must have looked like a sad, drug addict. You ignored his curiosity as you cleared your throat and walked up to the counter, ordering a black coffee that you didn't want. You let go of the knife in your hoodie to dig in your pants pockets for a few dollars, so you could hurry up and go. You faintly heard John order, ending with, "...Add hers on my tab." And you frowned. The fucking nerve of that show off. You weren't a bum, you just looked like one today. You folded your arms across your chest as you watched the barista prepare your drink. You wanted get out of here as soon as possible. You hated being so nervous and caught off guard. You killed many people before, but you never met them before you killed them.   
  
"Thanks," you said (your manners getting the best of you), as kept your hands in your pockets. Your voice came out more horse than you remembered it.   
  
"You're welcome. Are you alright?" He repeated, glancing at your bruises this time. You shook your head slowly and you didn't know why. His question was so genuine that you didn't feel like lying. There was no point anyway, he'd be dead soon. "I can walk you to your car if you want." You hesitated, eyeing him skeptically. Why the hell did he care so much? "The street lights are out till the next block," he explained, "It's an easy place to target somebody."  
  
You frowned slightly. He already thought you were a weak, damsel in distress, who was going get mugged the moment she stepped outside. You hoped he'd burn his tongue off on his coffee. He stared at you with a soft and patient expression. He had a way of making you feel calm when all you wanted to do was kill him.   
  
"If you're pitying me, you can stop. I got these bruises in a fight that I _won_, and I look like hell because I've run for miles," you spat as you faced the counter. You were fuming and saw from the side of your eye he had turned towards the counter too. Maybe he was finally done with your bullshit, so you jumped slightly when he spoke again.  
  
"I wasn't pitying you, but you're right, you do look like hell."  
  
Your mouth hung open, again, and you snapped it shut. Just who the hell did he think he was? The barista set both of your coffee's on the counter and you grabbed your coffee, followed by John.   
  
"Actually, I would love for you to walk me out." If John heard the sarcasm in your voice (which only a deaf person couldn't), he didn't act like he did. He just gave a small nod. You had thought about killing him once you got outside, but he was right, it was so damn dark. No lights anywhere besides the sign to the coffee shop. You hadn't noticed it when you were jogging because you were so deep in thought.   
  
"It wasn't an insult," you heard John's voice cut through the darkness. You could barely see anything as your eyes weren't adjusted yet from the brightness of the shop. You felt him walking extremely close though, his arm brushing against yours. You wondered if it was because he was having trouble seeing as well, and didn't want to lose where you were.  
  
"What wasn't?" You asked as you placed your hand on his bicep. You decided you didn't want to lose him either. He slightly tensed under your touch.   
  
"That you look like hell. I mean, you do, but it looks good on you."   
  
He was lucky it was dark and he couldn't see you, because you would have tried to attack him right then. You were forcing back a blush and it only made you more upset. You were about to respond as light hit your face, and you glanced up at John, who was already staring back at you. You let go of him as your hands found their way into your pockets again.   
  
"I suppose this is where we part ways," John said, his statement teetering on a question. You both lingered there a moment, looking at the lights that actually worked, compared to the ones behind you that didn't, then finally meeting each other's eyes again.   
  
"I'm gonna be at the coffee shop again tomorrow," you blurted. It was a good way to lure him where you wanted, but when he hesitated you realized how stupid that was. He was just doing something kind and you basically asked him on a date. "It's just my favorite place, no reason, really. You don't have to be there," you rambled, feeling pretty stupid right about now.   
  
"I'll be there."  
  
"Oh, good," you forced a small smile to seem normal, "Goodnight, John." Something flashed across his face and you remembered he never told you his name. You could have melted into the ground and disintegrated into nothing. You had blown your cover before you even started. With the quickest thinking, you pointed at his drink in his hand, and used the only excuse you knew. "Your name is on your cup," you said confidently as you held your breath. You had no idea if that place wrote people's name on their coffee cups, but you prayed they did.   
  
John glanced at his cup and offered a weak smile. "And to think I was flattered to have a stalker."   
  
You laughed, letting out your held breath, and waved goodbye. You never imagined John Wick to be humorous.  
  
Nothing was the same after that night. The next day you showed up at the coffee shop with every intention of ending his life, but you didn't. You found yourself engaged in conversation, laughing sometimes. It wasn't supposed to happen either. Getting close to him wasn't planned, if it was, he probably would have sensed it from a mile away. You didn't get so close because it was a clever idea, you were just a coward, afraid to be murdered in a coffee shop. You didn't know why you let it go on so long. The talking, the dates, the touching. You told yourself you needed to get even closer to really catch him off guard. So now you lay on your back listening the soft snores of the same man you were about to kill 7 months ago, only a few inches from you. The clock read 5:22 am. John is an early bird - you're not - so he would be waking up any moment now. You usually beg him to stay in bed because he's so warm and cuddly, and he usually gives in. The times he doesn't, you provide extra activities to keep him in bed longer. Today was different as you lay awake, listening to his steady breathing. You didn't know why or how he started to like you. Maybe he felt sorry for you that first night, but he could have easily done his kind deed and left, but he stayed. You had no idea what you were thinking when you he asked you out on an official date, hearing _yes _slide off your tongue so naturally. He took you to a lovely restaurant and both of you seemed to enjoy each other's company and silence. Neither of you were really talkative. Then John started to buy you things, nothing too extravagant, maybe an elegant dress or a piece of jewelry, but it was always simple and beautiful. He knew your exact taste and that irritated you a bit. He always opened your doors and pulled out your chairs and made reservations and paid for everything. He was the opposite of everything you ever heard about him. Sometimes you forgot about he was the Baba Yaga, because he was John to you. Nothing scary or ruthless about him. Instead, he was quite sheepish and reserved. He preferred to keep to himself. He was more than you could ever wish for in a spouse, and you felt yourself falling for him, going down a rabbit hole you couldn't escape. You couldn't let yourself go down the rabbit hole though, so you decided to kill him during the fourth month of dating. You'd invite him to your place and that's where you'd get the deed done. You no longer fantasized about murdering him in gruesome ways, but instead thought a simple head shot would suffice.   
  
"Can we go at my place?" You asked, trying to sound as nonchalant as possible, as if it wasn't going to be a murder zone soon.   
  
"Okay," he had replied and smiled at you. You always felt so special when he did that, because those smiles were only reserved for you. Things didn't go as planned, of course, because you never killed him. Never even tried. You got seduced into enjoying his company, his voice, the movie you put on in back ground, and finding this mysterious man so interesting. He was so dominant without even trying. He wasn't the loud, controlling, "dominant" male you were usually used to. No, John was... Different. He spoke without even speaking, he took charge so subtly, from the way he dressed, to the way he looked, it made you want to be his submissive little darling, and you weren't even the submissive type. His energy was so powerful and you understood how he got his reputation. You were definitely gonna miss him when he was gone, when you had to kill him, but tonight was not that night. Neither was the next day, or week, or few months. Then he asked you to move in with him. It was the opening you've been waiting for. _This is why you kept him alive, _you told yourself. The closer you were, the better. He told you that you could quit your job if you wanted too, since you were moving in with him, he'd take care of you. Your "job" was at a retail store and it was just a cover. You had wanted to appear as normal as possible, so the day after you met him at the coffee shop, you got a job. It was boring and you hated your boss, even thought about killing him a few times. So you nearly jumped for joy when John said you could quit if you wanted too. He was happy too, even though his unreadable face would say otherwise, but you knew him.   
  
So there you were, officially moved in with John Wick. You figured it would only make sense to wait until you knew his schedule before you tried to kill him. So more time went by and you were fascinated by his easy way of life. He was so laid back and almost mundane. He read a lot and liked to cook. You could tell he didn't like all the murdering and mayhem aspect of his life. He liked his peace, he liked long drives, and he liked you. He even told you his was an assassin on the sixth month of being with you. He didn't want any secrets between you too and he knew in order to take this relationship further, you would have to know the truth. Of course you acted surprised, and at first, you wanted to add drama and pretend to be upset, but he looked so vulnerable. He had laid his heart and soul on a platter for you and was waiting for a response. Was he holding his breath? You were hired to kill him, not to be evil, so you showed mercy and hugged him, "I don't care, John. I love you and all your baggage." He chuckled at this and held you tightly. You wondered how long you could keep up this "I love you," act before it wasn't an act anymore.   
  
You glanced at the clock again, 5:58 am. You were day dreaming for so nearly thirty minutes, going through old memories. John was still sound asleep. He was so beautiful when he slept, like all the demons were shut out for a while. He was nothing like you imagined and a part of you knew that's why you had prolonged the inevitable. You also knew the sex was great, so that was a bonus to stay. The first time you two had sex, you were a bit wary about doing it. You didn't want to take advantage of him. Afterall, he was just business, but would he believe your act if you didn't sleep with him?   
  
"We don't have to do this," John had spoken as his eyes roamed your face and saw the clear doubt across it. You wished you had a better poker face, you know that will get you caught one day.  
  
"No, It's just... been a while," you made up the excuse on the spot.   
  
He seemed to study your face a bit and you hated that he knew you so well. "Something's bothering you," he said rather emotionless. You didn't know if you've been found out or what, and for a moment, you were terrified. Surely if he found out you were hired to kill him, he would kill you first. You weren't in the most able position either, on your back with him between your legs. You tried to form words but your mouth just moved and nothing came out. Was this how you were going to die?   
  
"It's my fault, I was moving too fast," John mumbled as his face reddened. He shifted from between your legs and laid beside you. You immediately missed his weight on top of you, but you sighed in relief, knowing he was still clueless and didn't want to kill you. Everything be damned, you wanted him badly, but words weren't your thing, so you turned on your side and pressed your mouth against his. He kissed you back passionately, and your tongues danced together. His hand found the small of your back and pulled you even closer into him as if he couldn't get you close enough. You only came up for air and rested your forehead on his.  
  
"I want you," you said, pausing to lightly peck his lips in between each word. That was all the go ahead he needed. He stood up and pulled you to the edge of the bed, so your legs dangled off. He knelt in front of you, his face directly leveled with your pussy. He yanked your dress up, revealing your panties that showed your arousal. He kissed up your left thigh, gently biting and sucking at your skin (which was sure to leave marks), then switched to the right thigh to repeat this action. You could feel him savoring and enjoying every inch of you.  
  
Your head was pressed into the bed as you arched your back, trying to push your sex into his face. You were needy to finally feel him. He smiled adoringly at your eagerness, his warm breath caressing your pussy deliciously. He kissed you through your underwear, then slide them off, tossing them in the corner. All of your hesitant thoughts were long gone. John licked his lips as he stared at your already glistening pussy and swollen clit. He leaned in, running his tongue along your flesh, folding his mouth over your sex and groaning with satisfaction. You spread you legs wider as you grind your hips, wanting to get yourself as deep inside his mouth as possible. His tongue flicked and sucked on your clit, earning your soft moans in response. You thrashed your head from side to side and John nearly growled, seeing how you come apart for him. You arched your back again, feeling that tingling sensation building in your core.  
  
"John," you whimpered breathlessly. You were shaking helplessly as the wonderful desire surged through your body. John gripped your hips and firmly held you still, diving his tongue skillfully in and out of you, then up and down, and finally circling your swollen bud. You were murmuring curses, his name, and everything in-between. John sucked you over and over, bringing you closer to you orgasm. He pushed a long finger inside you, pumping in and out steadily as he continued to massage your clit with his tongue in firm, mercilessly circles. You unraveled quickly as you gripped the sheets and let out a delighted cry, quaking violently against the bed and John. As you came apart, he licked up every drop of your sweetness, savoring your taste. He indulgently kissed up your shaky stomach as you recovered from your orgasm, placing kisses between your breast. You wrapped your legs around him, pulling him closer. "I need you inside me."  
  
"I thought you'd never asked," he said coyly, and you giggled. You were a grown woman, feeling like a little girl around him.   
  
_Beep, beep, beep.  
_  
The alarm clock. It had ripped you from your memories just at the best part, replacing it with cloudy, blue numbers, that illuminated 6:30 am. You reached across to click the snooze button, then settled on your back again. You stole a glance at John who was now stirring awake. He rolled into his side and wrapped a heavy arm around your torso. "Good morning beautiful," he mumbled, still half asleep. His gravelly morning voice was heavenly and sent chills through your body.   
  
"Guess who's the sleepy head today?" You boasted playfully, finally being the first one to get up.  
  
"Technically, you're still in bed as well," he mumbled.   
  
"Well, I've been awake since 5, so it doesn't count."  
  
You immediately regretted saying it as John raised his head to study your face. He was trying to be serious, but his disheveled hair and sleepy, squinted eyes made him look so sexy. "Something on your mind?" He knew you always slept in, so if you were awake something was wrong.   
  
"I just been thinking, nothing too serious." You replied as you scooted yourself off the bed. "How about I make breakfast?" Changing the subject didn't go unnoticed by John, but he didn't push it. He usually made breakfast, but you needed something to keep busy. Something to get your mind off the fact that it's been seven months and you had every chance to kill him (quite easily at that), and you still haven't done it. You slept next to him, you saw him at his most vulnerable times, and you cooked him food for crying out loud. You couldn't admit that you were weak, so you told yourself it was about honor. You didn't train all these years as an assassin just to do something as lame as poisoning someone's food or taking them out in their sleep. You were gonna give him a fighting chance, but not too much, because you still knew who he was and you wanted to actually finish your job. You wished daily that he was the selfish, uptight, fucking asshole you thought the Baba Yaga was before getting to know him. Everything would have been so much easier. Instead, he loved you dearly and showed it in all the ways he knew how. And despite how jealous you once were of his skills, he never used it to make you feel less than. If anything, he made you feel safe. You knew the last thing he wanted was for you to be afraid of him. He didn't want to be scary.   
  
"Okay, but I get to wash the dishes," he replied.  
  
You chortled as you shook your head. "Deal." It was a thing you two did. Whoever cooked, the other person washed the dishes. It made both of you feel so domestic, something that neither of you had for a long time.   
  
After breakfast, you and John had a lazy day, cuddled up on the couch watching old, scary movies. You had a habit of pointing out all the stupid things people would do, practically yelling at the TV screen, and John had a habit of watching _you_ more than the TV. Whenever you caught him staring, you would blush slightly and kiss him. You were finally settling down. Days passed and you no longer thought about killing him. It seemed to be something so distant now, like it was another person who once hated him. Maybe one day you'd tell him and you'd both laugh about it. You just hoped the man who sent you to kill John Wick was so busy he'd forget about you, but no such thing happened.   
  
One night you got a call from him. It was the third time he tried to contact you this month. You were thinking of giving him some excuse about how you couldn't kill John, and he let you live for some reason, but it didn't sound believable, so you kept ignoring his calls. You knew he would eventually send people after you if you kept this up, so you figured it was now or never. This was your job anyway. You had a duty to do, and it was all your fault for fucking it up in the first place. You wished you would've tried to kill John on the first night as you strode through darkness. Maybe he would've gotten the upper hand and maybe your knife would've ended up in your own heart, but that pain was only for a little. This pain would last forever. You had to forget how things should be or what you wanted, because tonight you would kill John Wick.   
  
John slid his arms around your waist and rested his chin in your shoulder as you washed the dishes. He had made your favorite, fettuccine, for dinner, so it was your turn to wash the dishes.   
  
"Is everything okay?" He asked.  
  
"Yeah, why?"  
  
"You've been scrubbing the same plate for five minutes."   
  
You silently cursed yourself out and set the plate down. "I'm just tired, I guess."  
  
"Let me take over, you go rest."   
  
You nodded, because you didn't feel like protesting. You left the kitchen and went to your bedroom. You kept a box hidden in the closet with a custom made knife, it was your favorite one. You had killed countless people with this. You held the weapon as you got into bed, laying on your side, and tucking it under your pillow for safe keeping. After a little while you felt the weight shift on the bed, meaning John had lain beside you. His arm wrapped around you and you brushed it off a little harder than you intended. You could practically _hear_ his mind churning, thinking of what he possibly did wrong.   
  
"Y/N?"  
  
"What?"   
  
"Do you want to talk about something?"   
  
"No," you replied firmly. Why wouldn't he let you kill him in peace?   
  
"I'm here for you no matter what. You can tell me what's upsetting you."  
  
"Damn it, John, I'm okay," You were frustrated and angry at him for ever making you so weak. When you didn't want to talk, he usually let you be, but he must have sensed how off you were.   
  
"Are _we_ okay?" He asked and his voice cracked the slightest bit. You squeezed your eyes shut, glad your weren't facing him. Your tone was softer now.   
  
"I don't know, just... Just go to sleep."  
  
It was hours later before you finally heard the steady breathing of him sleeping. You slowly slid your hand from under your pillow that was gripping the knife for hours straight. Your knuckles hurt and it reminded you of the first day you met. You remember how eager you were to kill him. How you were so glad to be getting rid of another arrogant asshole. Now, you were burdened with this task, a dark cloud hanging low over your head as you turned around to face him. This is what you wanted. You waited for this moment for years, to have the Baba Yaga at your mercy, taking his life as you watched his soul leave his body. Your fellow assassins would think of you as a goddess, and they would fear you. Your reputation would be untouchable. You held the base of the knife with both hands and raised it high above your head. Tears stung your eyes and your nose tingled. You let the knife fall from your hands and onto the bed as quiet sobs racked through your body. You couldn't do it. He looked so precious when he was asleep on his side, curled up like a child. _You could never do it. _  
  
"John," you shook his shoulders, "John."   
  
He opened his eyes, alert as ever and scanning you for any signs of injuries.   
  
"What's wrong?" He asked as he noticed the knife laying beside you and frowned. "Y/N?"   
  
You didn't care anymore. You were head over heels in love and the truth was bubbling out of you. You weren't scared and you were prepared for whatever reaction he had next.   
  
"I was hired to kill you a long time ago. I had everything planned perfectly until you walked into that stupid coffee shop and I lost sight of my job. I thought about killing you all the time, but I just couldn't. I know you hate me now and might want to kill me, but I swear I didn't want it to be like this. I wasn't purposely dragging you along. I really did fall in love with you. No matter what happens, I want you to know that these seven months has been the best fucking time of my life."   
  
John was unreadable as always and eerily quiet as he studied you intently.   
  
"I don't hate you," he spoke softly and slowly as he grabbed the knife beside you and set it on the nightstand.   
  
"You're not mad?" you asked shakily.   
  
John sighed as he shook his head. "No, I suspected as such."   
  
Your eyes widened in disbelief. "But how?"  
  
"My name was never on my coffee cup," he explained, taking you back to the first slip up you ever made. "Since you already knew my name, I assumed you were also an assassin, and when you _lied_ about knowing my name, I figured you were sent to kill me."  
  
"Then why did you meet with me again?"  
  
"Because I liked you," he said sheepishly. "And besides, I know how to take care of myself pretty well."  
  
You just shook your head in disbelief, trying to find any words.  
  
"So you knew I was trying to kill you, and you still stayed with me? That's dumb, John."  
  
John shrugged. "I knew you wouldn't hurt me."   
  
"But I could have! Oh my gosh, what if I hurt you?!"  
  
"You didn't," he said as he pulled you into a hug. "I love you, Y/N."  
  
You felt yourself relax. It was so good to get everything off your chest, and it didn't go nearly as bad as all the scenarios in your head showed. "I love you too."   
  
A pleasant silence filled the room before John spoke again.  
  
"Who gave you the contract to kill me anyway?"   
  
You pulled from the hug to grin at him.  
  
"Are you thinking what I'm thinking?"  
  
He quirked an eyebrow at you.  
  
"Don't even think about it. I'll take care of it."  
  
"This is my mess. I'll care take of it."  
  
John knew you were too stubborn not to go and he was too protective to let you go by yourself.   
  
"We'll both go."   
  
You nodded in agreement. Now you had a new mission, with a new person to kill, and this time, you were going to finish the job. 


End file.
